


say excuse me, asshole

by cruxxite



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Chance Meetings, Deaf Character, Deaf Dave, M/M, cutie cute boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:01:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruxxite/pseuds/cruxxite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You didn't meant to bump into him. You were just admiring the sunset, he just happened to be standing there.</p>
<p>You're glad he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	say excuse me, asshole

**Author's Note:**

> dont talk to be about capital d Deaf just dont bother if you try youre going to make yourself look like an idiot

The sky is clear, void of clouds, and the sun is just beginning to set at the point where the horizon is fading pink and lavender and wow, that’s beautiful. Cars are speeding by on the street behind you and tourists are walking slowly, almost awkwardly, praying they haven’t made a wrong turn to get back to their hotels. They’re probably talking about how loud it is, or how the clear sky is going to make for a chilly night, or how tomorrow they’d try to get to one of the Smithsonian museums early to avoid the crowd.

Not that you can hear any of it, of course.

You’ve never been able to. You were born Deaf, no hearing, nothing. You were just as intelligent as any hearing person (which you signed angrily to every person giving you the pity-eye, not that they could understand, which was pathetic in its own way) and could see or smell or taste or feel just as well, it’s just that your hearing was gone, so what? Was it really that big a deal?

Apparently.

You’re 19 and you still don’t know why.

When you were really young you remember that your bro considered getting you hooked up with a Cochlear implant, but when he brought it up with a Deaf person in the office at the time and they simply told him to let you grow up in the Deaf community and see how that turned out, he decided against it. Now you’re thankful for that choice, especially with the fact that you didn’t have any say in that resolution to begin with, and now you could have been offered both perfect hearing and speech and you’d still refuse.

You’re Deaf. That’s who you are; it’s as much a part of you as your sense of humor or your sarcasm or your hands and your face. Honestly, you’re grateful for your Deafness. There are a lot of ignorant people out there whom you’d rather not listen to rant about things they don’t understand.

Like those white, balding, hearing men that make shitty speeches (and hardly ever have interpreters until they’re on TV later) about yes, everyone is equal, everyone deserves the same rights, unless you’re gay or a woman or have any sort of disability, then you’re stupid and are treated as such. Thank God you don’t have to listen to those whiny douchebags.

You spin on your heel, the sun half-set now, and you bump right into someone. Your eyes drift over him automatically, summing him up, checking his shirt, his hands, his sign space. His fingers are bare, no rings, and he’s in a simple dark navy long-sleeve tee shirt. Yeah, he’s probably here for the university. Is he Deaf, too, you wonder? Your eyes flick up to his face and damn is that a sight to behold. His skin is fairly tan, his eyes a brilliant blue and his dark hair mussed from the wind. Definitely attractive.

But wait, you’re staring now, and wow just say excuse me don’t be an asshole come on Dave you can do it, you brush your right fingers across your left ones twice—excuse me—and he grins, touching his thumb to his chest with his palm to the side, fingers up. It’s fine.

Before rushing away, however, you pause, studying him once more. He seems accustomed to it and flashes you another cheerful smile. He has a slight overbite and you wet your lips, hesitating before lowering your eyebrows and signing, “Who are you?”

“I’m John Egbert,” he spells (fairly quickly, you note—he’s been signing for a while), “I’m an interpreter at Gallaudet. What’s your name?”

“Me too, but I’m Deaf. I’m Dave Strider.” 

John’s smile broadens further, if possible. It’s contagious and you feel the corners of your lips twitching up, too.

“Do you live here?” he signs after a pause.

You shake your head and fingerspell, “Crystal City.”

Understanding crosses his well-defined features, and he nods. You are still for a moment, just looking at each other. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’d think less of Deaf people, but then again, no one really does.

Finally, he asks, “How long have you lived here?”

“Four months,” you reply. “And you?”

Appearing sheepish, he signs, “Only a few days. I don’t know where we are.”

You laugh. His expression is a little curious, as is that of a few other people watching your conversation--which is actually really rude, and irritates you to no end. Wow, Deaf people laugh normal? Crazy. 

John doesn’t stare, though.

He laughs, too, all nerves and uneasy smiles. “Can you lead me back to the university?” he asks. “I live there.”

Well, when he’s offering you that adorable, dorky grin and has those long, quick fingers, how could you refuse?

So you bob your fist in a yes and gesture for him to walk beside you as you turn toward the direction of the school. It’s not a long walk, especially since you’d just come from there to get some coffee, and your car is in that lot, anyway. He nudges your shoulder and you turn to him, still walking, as he signs, “I know it’s only been a minute, but what are you doing tomorrow night?”

What.

Maybe he didn’t sign something right.

No, that anxious look he’s giving you lets you know that he signed exactly what he’d intended to and you’d read them correctly.

Oh, right, he asked you a question and is getting more worried by the second. “Nothing,” you sign hurriedly, offering him a grin. “What were you thinking of?”

John visibly relaxes, his shoulders sagging a little and the muscles in his face easing into a friendly smile again. He’s about to sign something, but then you catch a glint of blue out of the corner of your eye and he’s grabbing your arm, wrapping his other around your waist and jerking you forward, toward him, into his chest. You draw in a breath as you feel your hair and shirt ruffle slightly. Whirling, you see a car speeding away, obviously far above the speed limit for the road. John raises his middle finger and shouts something before turning back to you, studying your face. Okay, he probably just saved your life or at least prevented you from serious injury, but all you can focus on is the heat coming off his body and the blood rushing to your cheeks.

“You okay?”

You nod, touching your fingers to your chin and moving it out—thanks—before smirking. “My hero,” you sign teasingly, and he flushes a wonderful shade of pink as he draws back (but not by much).

No, you’re definitely not doing anything tomorrow night.


End file.
